Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Kerry Greenwood
‘Hmm. Two passports, I see. One British, one Greek. Looks
like the same photograph.’ Phryne looked at the dead man’s
face: serious and very young, dark and Middle Eastern. ‘His
visa, about to run out, as you said. A pen knife, a wallet, a purse
which closes with rings—I’ve never seen a man with a purse like
that—a packet of Woodbines and a box of wax matches. Purse
contains five pence ha’penny. Wallet contains several letters in
a language which I don’t know, a script I don’t know, either. It
must be Hebrew—it’s not Greek, anyway, Jack dear.’
‘And these scraps, which is more of it, whatever it is. Plus
these drawings. They look old,’ said Jack gloomily.
Phryne unfolded a piece of parchment, and stared at the
drawing. It was inked in black and coloured in red and gold.
It seemed to show a red lion being burned on a golden fire.
Underneath were letters. Aur, she read. ‘Hmm. That’s Latin for
gold. There’s a lot more but it makes no sense, at least not to
me. I need a classicist. What did your experts say, Jack?’
‘We asked one of our own members, he can read Hebrew,
and he says it don’t make sense, it’s just a jumble of letters, like
a code.’
‘And the Latin?’
‘Haven’t seen about that yet. Do you want to do me a favour,
Miss Fisher? I don’t want to put all this through the evidence book
in case it proves to be something which might cause a breach of
the peace. So I’ll lend it to you, if you guarantee to let me know
what it’s about if it’s germane to the case. Is it a deal?’
‘You’re trusting me very far, Jack dear,’ said Phryne gently.
He took her hand and clasped it. His forgettable face was
blank with worry.
‘I do trust you,’ he said. ‘Is it a deal?’
‘Deal,’ said Phryne. ‘And I know just the man to ask.’